


Lessons Learned

by Bramblepelt



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, and a bad thing happens to an eye, there's some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9599657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bramblepelt/pseuds/Bramblepelt
Summary: Taako and Merle swore to take on Magnus' forgotten quest for vengeance. There's only one or three problems.





	

The first problem was Callan no longer went by the name of Callan. The man was many terrible things, but foolish had never been one of them. Hordak was his name now. A trader of fine goods with a silver tongue. He would travel from town to village, peddling flatware and tapestries and teas from far off lands. He would spin tales of exotic encounters and strange, wonderful customs no one in Faerun could even imagine. For a modest price they too could enjoy a piece of these magical kingdoms and certainly not buy the refashioned belongings of a family slaughtered by a group of drunken mercs. He had renamed himself and ended up making quite a name for himself.

The second problem was Callan had survived and learned his lesson. He knew better now where his mistakes had been. He had allowed his pride and ego to be his downfall. You cannot be the face the masses see and blame when things don’t go as they wish. This time he would be the hand that turned the wheels, the mouth that whispered suggestions, the ears that could hear every whisper in every pub, alley, and market stall. He would have everything his heart had ever wanted and no one would know. 

His newly found profession assisted greatly. He had learned to suppress his temper, to win battles with flattery and wit rather than threats and force. Callan the Governor had seized his power with the grace of a rampaging centaur. But Hordak the Merchant could talk the most prudent consumer into emptying their pockets right into his hands before they knew what was happening. It was not as easy, but it was far more sustainable. And where there is a will, there is a way.

He had spent the years since the destruction of Raven’s Roost practicing his craft. A small village would be experiencing trouble with their agriculture. A town’s infrastructure was falling into disrepair while the mayor renovated their manor. The crime rates would be at all time highs in a once great city. He would always have the solution. A miracle cure for starving soil here, a business deal turned friendship there, and a spot of humble offerings to give an outsider’s insight into public policy would ingratiate him to the people who mattered. He would shovel the largest pile of sweet smelling horse shit onto the table and leave with more and more gold. He would always leave.

He was tired of leaving. He was ready to stake his claim on the prize he knew was owed him. Callan had his eyes on the only prize that was suitable for him. Callan was ready to take Neverwinter.

The third problem was the one man who knew his crimes and could stop him before he started again no longer could. Magnus Burnsides did not remember and Callan knew. He had set up shop in Neverwinter, ready to start wheeling and dealing his way into the hearts of the nobility. There was a power vacuum that was threatening to destabilize the entire kingdom and he would have to move fast if he wanted to fill it. He was getting anxious, careless, he had not planned for this sort of hazard to appear. He had let his guard down so thoroughly he almost hadn’t recognized the face of the boy who destroyed everything.

To be fair that face was almost unrecognizable. The young boy who led the assault on his holdings and personally dragged him off his throne now looked somehow older than him. His hair was greying and his face had the markings that come with a man who has seen far too much suffering in their time. And yet he was smiling. Beaming, even. The boy was holding a dragonfly hair pin Hordak was selling. Something he had found in an abandoned farmhouse and affixed small rubies and emeralds (painted glass but really who can tell?) and claimed it was enchanted to bring love and luck to any maiden who wore it. The boy was cradling this piece of junk like it was the most precious artifact and he hadn’t even heard the sales pitch yet.

Why wasn’t he dead? He had gone out of his way to destroy the very place he knew the boy and his collaborators lived. How could he have possibly survived that? It didn’t matter now. Maybe he hadn’t seen Callan’s face yet. Maybe he could slip through this without bringing any attention to himself. Was he traveling through or did he live here? This may complicate things. It was seemingly one problem after another. The Gods were testing him.

“This is perfect,” the boy yelled. His voice was the same. He’d never forget that voice. The one who played at mercy and being the better man. “My friend, he’s been feeling down on himself recently. Maybe something like this could cheer him up, you know? Brighten up his outlook? How much?” The boy was looking straight at him, making eye contact even, and his sunny demeanor had not flinched. 

“Five gold.” Callan sputtered out. He could easily take him for twice that much but he wanted this encounter over with quickly. The money changed hands and still nothing was said. Callan thanked him for the purchase hoping he would be on his way when a large hand stuck out towards his face. The boy was smiling still, all teeth and bright eyes. He wanted a hand shake. There it was, the obvious trap. He’d shake hands and the boy would pull him out from behind the table, or he’d have a poison tipped needle hidden up his sleeve, or perhaps some sort of spell at the ready to boil his skin. “I don’t shake hands, uh, poor immune system. You understand.” he clasped his hands in front of his cloak for emphasis. 

The boy waved, thanked him, and left.

That was it. The boy was gone. Had Callan really changed so much since those days? Perhaps he had. The boy certainly did. The one person who had ever stopped him no longer knew him. To Callan this was a sign. Neverwinter was ripe, ready, and completely on the table for him.

 

What Callan could not have possibly predicted was Magnus’ ally, a being drenched in self obsession and so incapable of basic social graces the greatest scammer in all the planar systems couldn’t get a single cheeto from him. He could not have known Magnus was friends with a wizard so powerful only his own laziness and dubious morality was keeping him from dominating the world. This wizard would be Callan’s downfall.

 

Specifically the dragonfly hairpin his old enemy had bought for the wizard, which was being shoved into Callan’s face presently. It was the following day, middle of the afternoon, and some elf was demanding “our gold” back. 

“I mean fuck, dude, you can’t grift a grifter! I get it, Mags is an easy target, he has ‘rip me off’ painted all over that dumb face. You just wanna make a silver. Sure. But it ain’t gonna be ours. So here’s your cheap garbage back, and you’re gonna return whatever he paid plus a tax for pretending this shit was enchanted. I’m offended. Honestly offended.” Taako extended his hand across the table littered with polished ornaments and silken textiles, dropped the pin in a metallic bowl to ensure a loud echoing clang, and turned his palm upwards signaling he would like his money now please and thank you.

Callan faked the most pleasant smile he could manage and thought better of trying to make any insults or jabs. The sooner this acquaintance of the boy was gone the better. Plus the ruckus was chasing away the dignified nobility he needed to smooze with today.

“Of course, I am so sorry you aren’t pleased with the thoughtful gift you friend purchased. I will gladly refund the cost, as that is the sort of gentleman I am.” he reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a few silver coins. “Please remember this honest dealing when you are in need of some finery in your future.” he handed the coins to Taako, gave a short bow, and bid him good day.

Taako frowned at the coins in his hand. “Three silver? That’s all he paid for this?” he asked in a way that said I know you are full of shit you bastard.

“Three silver, not a copper more for such a small token.” Callan responded.

“Do it.” Taako ordered. Before Callan could ask for clarification a small hand appeared from behind his table holding a book into the air.

“I cast Zone of Truth!” a gruff voice rang out.

“You don’t have to say that you know.” Taako said.

“No shit. I do it because it’s cool.” Merle replied.

Callan felt a wave of prickly energy wash over him. He tried to willpower himself through it but this was just too strong. His mind went dark and he couldn’t think straight. Zone of truth was amateur stuff, a real basic trick, he could fight it off. He’d done it so many times before! His mind continued to go darker while all sight and sound closed off from him completely. When his senses returned all he could think about was how trustful and awesome these guys were and how much he just really wanted to tell them anything they wanted to know.

“I’ll ask again. What did Magnus pay for your trash?” Taako smirked in his self assured delight.

“Five gold.” Callan answered.

“Fan fuckin tastic. I’ll be taking THAT.” Taako cast a mage hand that quickly snaked its way into the robe pocket and retrieved a fistful of coins. Taako counted out five gold and directed the hand to return the rest. “Now that you see, is what I call honest dealing. I could’ve kept all of it but I didn’t. Because I’m not a douche like you. I am going to keep these three silver though. Like I said lying about enchanted items is a serious asshole move and you gotta pay the fine. Oh, also-” Taako picked up a completely black candelabra with skulls intricately carved into the three holders. “THIS is my shit right here. Where did you loot this from Fantasy Hot Topic? It’s got edgy teen phase written all over it. I’m keeping this too this is mine now.” he started shoving the gaudy item into a sack slung across his shoulder.

Merle made a rough throat clearing sound next to him and gave Taako an extremely disapproving look.

“What the FUCK old man, can’t I have anything nice without you judging my taste!?” Taako threw his arms out in exasperation, his mage hand following suit and knocking Callan backwards off his feet. “Besides I am going to craft glitter the fuck out of it so it’s going to look amazing.” Taako continued, not noticing jack shit.

“That’s not the problem Taako you can’t just steal stuff even if the shopkeep is a jackass.” Merle said like he was lecturing an actual child. “Two wrongs, blah blah, come on Taako you gave Magnus so much grief back in the bank.”

“That was different, those tellers weren’t insulting me.”

“At least pay for the damn thing!”

“Merle please I am the only person in the entire world who would want this I am doing him a favor by taking it!” A dramatic gesture had the mage hand knocking a few items, including that large bowl, into the air. The pin went flying up, and Callan looked up in time to watch it land. Pointy part first. In his eye. The bowl soon followed, clanging on his head and echoing around his ears as he clutched his hands to his eye searing in pain. 

“Well it’s your alignment, I suppose. Can’t say I’m mad Taako, I’m just disappointed.” Merle sighed before turning to leave.

Callan made an attempt to pull himself back up by grabbing at his table but found it coming down on top of him instead. It had been intentionally flipped over by an angry entitled jerk who had all but forgotten there was a person who owned that table. The side of the heavy wooden fixture landed on his chest, and as the cast iron cooking pot (he had found in the remains of an abandoned wagon convoy) came tumbling down to meet his skull it was all Callan could do to think ‘this isn’t how my story is supposed to go’.

“YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD!” were the shrill and whiny last words Callan would ever hear. 

 

Several miles above the streets of Neverwinter, Magnus Burnsides was sitting on the moon carving a small wooden turtle. He had plans to carve as many animals as he could think of. It’s important to have goals in your hobbies. In an instant Magnus felt something strange. A sort of sick in the gut feeling, like something was happening and he needed to jump to his feet. But nothing was there, and nothing was happening. The feeling melted away and he was covered in a strange sense of calm. He shrugged his shoulders and chalked it up to one more weird thing about getting older that no one tells you about. He went back to his turtle and thought that a dragonfly would be fun to do next.

**Author's Note:**

> @pandalots on twitter


End file.
